The One That Got Away
by amagicalship
Summary: Canon Divergence from 3x21: After Hook and Emma returned from the past, he said, "I know how you kiss, I would have gone after her." So...what if he did?


"Oh yes," he breathed, hand on the hilt of his sword as he made his way after the beautiful lass with the golden curls, turning his head to make sure Smee was scurrying off the ship as instructed.

He'd spent a significant amount of time conversing with her at the pub and now his efforts were about to pay off. He couldn't believe his luck when she'd broken into his game, her cleavage displayed most tantalizingly in his line of vision, her gorgeous face like a brilliant sunrise in the dreary tavern. "What are you boys playing?" she'd asked, but her eyes were focused on him alone, and he was very content to enjoy her most singular attention for the better part of the evening.

Smiling to himself triumphantly, he followed after the swish of her skirts and the echoing lilt of her laughter. This was one prize he wasn't willing to share with _anyone_.

Liquor buzzed through his veins, but it was the fervor of anticipation that was making the blood rush through him, his mood giddy and light. He hadn't felt this alive in years. It wasn't just the fact that she was extraordinarily beautiful - though she was, indeed - it was also the way she had spoken with him in a way that was both intimate and new that thrilled him more than he'd like to admit. He was smitten with her, to be sure.

Though he may have had to grasp the railing a bit tighter than usual as he made his way down the ladder into the captain's quarters, it was of little consequence when he saw her standing there waiting for him breathlessly, a beguiling smile on her lovely face as she grabbed his lapels.

"Where may you be going, I do hope you're not having second thoughts," he questioned her, for as much as he wanted her, a gentleman never engages in activities that aren't altogether welcome.

"No, I just got tired of waiting."

 _Most excellent._

Even more excellent was the way she dove forward at the same time she pulled him (quite forcefully) to her by his lapels, slamming the soft swell of her bosoms up against his chest and making him struggle to find his footing as the sensation knocked him entirely off balance. _Oh, but the lass could kiss._

Her mouth was hot and demanding, her lips opening without delay to grant him access to the sweet, luscious depths. If his pulse was pounding before, he was absolutely swimming in it now, the strength of his desire completely overwhelming him.

And he didn't even know her name.

As he thread his fingers through her hair and finally got to feel the silky tresses, she tilted her head and almost parried with him, her tongue seeking his unrelentingly, taking charge of the pace of the kiss with her entire body, her lithe figure like a livewire against him. That was usually _his_ tactic. What a bloody marvel.

He wanted to kiss her all night, so delicious she was, but the way her soft tongue was rasping against his and her knee was nudging between his thighs had him growing rigid and erect, the blood that had previously been rushing through his head now heading South at a most alarming rate. When he kissed her harder - challenging her - he felt her hips rock into his and he could already imagine what it would feel like to join himself to her, the thought of his thick length buried inside of her slick, warm heat making him ache with need.

A groan was starting to rumble in his chest when she pulled back suddenly, and surprised, he found her smiling up at him, laughter on the tip of her tongue as the alluring vixen held him close. He wanted to ask her, "Do I know you from somewhere?" because the way she was looking at him was more familiar, more intense than he would expect for someone he'd just met in a tavern naught a few hours earlier.

Instead he smiled back, hardly able to restrain his growing affection, and said, "Apologies. A woman as beautiful as you deserves my full and prompt attention."

She grinned widely at him in response and he was starting to wonder if she was born of starlight, when his attempt to continue their most delightful dalliance was interrupted most rudely by...himself?

In the morning, he would shake his head violently before wincing in pain as he pondered that thought. The man who had hit him certainly reminded him of himself in the least and possessed a violent temper to be certain. Was she his mistress? A bloody lucky wanker if it were so, but it wouldn't surprise him. A woman as lovely as _that_ was likely to attract men like a bee to honey.

She..she...golden hair, lilting laughter, glorious bosoms over a tiny little waist. A challenging glint in her eyes as she poured him more rum...the feel of her hand on his thigh, firm yet feminine, sending sparks of energy up his leg and raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

Hook ran his hand through his hair as he yawned heavily. What was her name again? The bonny lass who'd kept him better company than he'd had in ages, how could he forget?

"What fun would that be?" he heard her say in that breathy voice of hers and then he remembered.

"Just two ships passing in the night then?"

"Passing closely, I hope," her voice laced with seductive intent as she stubbornly refused to answer him.

Oh, but she was a siren, a bloody wonder. And he'd only just gotten a nip of her, his body still hungry for more as he ran his thumb over his lower lip. The taste of her - whoever she was - was still fresh on his tongue, the rum unable to wash away the gloriousness of her kiss.

Who was she? A figment of his imagination? And who was this ferocious man that she belonged to? Or was he simply a conjuration of his mind as well? Perhaps, like an bloody arse, he hit his _own_ head and saw himself in the mirror when he went down. He only wished his brain weren't so foggy.

"Smee! Mr. Smee!" he called, right there from his slumped position on the floor.

Smee clambered down the ladder, letting in the brilliant morning sunlight and causing Hook to squint, shielding his face with his arm.

"Morning, Captain. What do you need?"

Hook kicked at a rope that was lying on the floor with the toe of his boot.

"Smee, I'm having a bit of trouble remembering what happened last night, and I was wondering if you could fill me in."

Smee nodded, looking nervous. "I'll do my best, sir."

"Did I or did I not return from the tavern last night with a beautiful maiden with flaxen hair?"

"The first time, or?"

Hook squinted his eyes at him, his temper flaring. "Just answer the question!" he snarled.

"Yes, sir, you did bring a bar wench home with you from the tavern. She was quite the comely creature too, Captain-"

Hook waved his hand in the air to silence his first mate.

"And what happened after that?"

Smee got a smug grin on his face, waggling his eyebrows in a way that immediately made Hook want to smack him.

"Well, sir, that's where you'll have to fill _me_ in, since you sent me away. Said you were going to have a 'nightcap.'"

He scrunched up his face in confusion. "A nightcap?"

Smee ran his tongue over his lower lip. "You know, you wanted your 'privacy,' Captain, so I assume you were in here giving her the-"

"Alright, alright, that's enough. So, you don't know when she left?" He tried to hide the hope in his voice, but it came through anyway, causing Smee to look at him curiously.

"No, Captain. I slept at the tavern, arrived back at the ship just after daybreak."

 _Bollocks._ Mr. Smee couldn't provide him with any information he wasn't able to acquire on his own, and the hunger he had felt for the missing lass earlier was now sharpening into a full on ache. Why should he care about one particular bar wench? There were plenty of bonny lasses available in every port, ready and willing to make his every sordid fantasy a reality. Why was this lass any different?

"Very good, Mr. Smee. Go and make sure the boys are up and that the supplies are being loaded properly onto the ship."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n."

Groaning, he attempted to rise most ungracefully to standing, hand going to his face where it still ached from the right hook he'd either experienced or imagined. Slouching against the counter below his wash basin, he looked at himself in the mirror. Sure enough, his lip was split and there was dried blood on his cheek. _Bloody hell._ He'd pay good money to find out what in the blazes happened last night.

Splashing some water on his face, he looked at himself again. Still devilishly handsome, though the rings under his eyes told the tale of the previous evening's transgressions.

All day long, he attempted to distract himself from the ache in his belly by keeping a hawk-like eye on the crew, barking orders at everyone as they scurried about the ship. By mid-afternoon, however, the gnawing sensation at the pit of his stomach could no longer be ignored, and he told Smee that he would be going into town on an errand.

Walking into the tavern, he was pleased to find that it was mostly empty, the early-afternoon lull making the normally raucous space feel strangely bright and deserted, the smell of alcohol hanging heavy in the air. Sauntering up to the bar, scowl firmly in place, he was gladdened by the sight of the same bartender who had been there last night.

"Oy! You there," he called as he tossed a doubloon on the counter.

The rotund, bearded bartender turned around, holding a mug and the towel with which he was drying it. He eyed the doubloon and then looked back up at him with a questioning expression.

"What can I do for you?"

"Last night, I was being entertained by a bar wench, she was blonde, fairest in all the land." He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, remembering her splendid cleavage and the brilliant green of her eyes.

The bartender nodded, leaning his hand on the counter. "Aye, I saw you with her."

This is where Hook had to swallow thickly, weakly attempting to hold on to at least some of his pride. But he wanted this too much to be bothered with it.

"Who is she? What's her name?"

The bartender shrugged, jutting out his bottom lip. "Haven't a clue." He shook his head.

 _No, it can't be._ Someone has to know who she is, she can't have appeared out of nowhere and vanished just as easily.

Growling, he grabbed the man's shirt and pulled him over the bar, holding his hook to his throat threateningly.

"If you're lying to me…" he hissed in his face.

"Honest, Captain, the only one I saw her talking to last night was you."

Hook looked him in the eyes and saw that he was telling the truth, so he released him from his hold and turned on his heel, absolutely fuming, his coat tails swishing behind him as he stormed out of the tavern.

This was bloody ridiculous! Captain _Bloody_ Hook did not pine over a woman, much less a woman that he had barely spent a few hours with. Yet even as he stomped through the tavern, he looked over to the spot they had been sitting in last night and saw her in his mind's eye, delicate fingers trailing over his hook.

"I want to know how you got the hook. You hear so many stories…" her voice taunting him even as he marveled over her beauty, the dimple in her chin just asking for him to swipe his thumb over it.

And those lips...so ripe and lush, her tiny pink tongue darting out to swipe at the rum that had escaped them and sending all sorts of naughty thoughts into his mind. Touching his fingers to his own lips, he remembered again the way she had kissed him. It was raw and passionate for sure, but there was something _more_ behind it, some measure of feeling that he could almost ascertain but that was somehow just beyond his ability to comprehend. The way she kissed him - the way she _looked_ at him - it was as if he'd known her for months or years, not for mere hours.

 _Argh._ He kicked at some rubbish in the cobbled street, wanting to hit something. He was in a foul mood indeed. It did not suit him to lose a treasure as fine as she, and as he plodded down the street, he was suddenly thunderstruck, the force of his recognition causing him to stop right there and sway on the spot, clutching at his chest.

The ache that had previously been consuming his belly had traveled, most inconspicuously, and now had a stranglehold on his heart. Could he be...in _love_ with her?

Eyes wide, he considered it for a moment, remembering the ease in her smile - as if she knew all his secrets - and the way she handled him like she had nothing to fear. Many a woman had been familiar with him before, but none had ever been bold enough to lose all pretense around him. He didn't blame them for it, he was the fearsome Captain Hook after all, but there it was just the same - there was something different about her and whatever it was he found he liked it. Not only liked it, but _craved_ it. Real intimacy and fondness, something he hadn't experienced since Milah.

Love though? Captain Hook didn't fall in love...not since _her_. It was too dangerous, too foolish...too much like the naive lad he'd once been.

Righting himself from his stupor, he released his hand on his chest and laughed at himself, throwing his head back and really getting into it. Shaking his head in disbelief, he told himself it was nonsense, and he resolved never to think of the nameless woman again as he continued to make his way down the street.

Of course, that proved difficult, and though he would deny it vehemently if ever asked, he looked for her every time they were in port. Every blonde lass that he saw in a tavern would cause his breath to come short for a moment until turning, he'd see that she was not the one he was looking for but merely a shoddy replacement and he cursed under his breath, his jaw clenching in irritation.

But replace her he did, taking the closest facsimiles into his bed and driving them wild, chasing his release as he often closed his eyes and pictured _her_ green eyes burning for him with desire, or _her_ lush mouth begging to be kissed, though none possessed her beauty or her fire. Previously, he'd prefered brunettes, especially if they had blue eyes as well, but now it was only the blonde ones who turned his head, as rare as they were in these parts. It meant he more often than not went home alone, grouchy and unsatisfied but unable to be appeased.

Eventually, though, time went on and her features began to fade from his memory. He could no longer recall the exact shade of her eyes or the pertness of her nose. It was only a vague feeling that remained, a sense of loss that haunted him the same way every other loss haunted him, for he was a man who would never get the happy ending others claimed, his heart too consumed with vengeance and vile hatred for the Crocodile to retain space for frivolous fantasies.

Still, a small untamed part of his reckless heart continued to wish for the one that got away, unable to let go completely as the memory of her kiss remained unsullied in his memory, ripe with wonder and longing that he rarely allowed himself to feel.

One night some time later, as he lay sprawled in a hammock on the shores of a distant island, the sound of the ocean waves constant and soothing as birds called in the distance, he thought of her again and wondered if his life would be different, if perhaps he would have settled down and started a family _if only_ \- Well, it was all bloody buggering nonsense, but he was drunk enough on rum to dream it anyway, his mind always rife with pain and regret, the past his constant companion.

"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for Smee!" his first mate sang happily as he approached him, a bottle of rum in his hand.

Hook smiled wearily, both relieved and annoyed by the interruption of his private reverie.

"Whatcha thinkin' about Cap'n?"

Hook bit his lip, sighing softly as he stared up at the stars and ran his hand through his hair, tugging restlessly at the ends.

"Just that damn bar wench I kissed," he said under his breath, even though she was only a memory now, a tiny bit of stardust left under his pillow.

"What's that, sir?" Smee asked, suddenly tripping over a log and falling, to which he began laughing hysterically, rolling in the sand and slapping his thigh.

He shook his head, groaning inwardly. "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me," he sang softly, his voice lacking the gaiety of his first mate's. Smiling wistfully, he sank further into his melancholy, content to hold it dear. It was no replacement for the unnamed woman, but it was his to keep.


End file.
